


The Parting Glass

by ScaryDory2



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-03-14 14:49:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3414707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScaryDory2/pseuds/ScaryDory2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maerad Cassel had grown up in the relative safety of Winterfell, working as a stable hand and spending her free time with the Stark children. </p>
<p>However, when the King brings haunting news and takes Ned Stark south, Maerad is plunged into a world that she never wanted to live. </p>
<p>Robb/OC</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Maerad Cassel threw the bucket in her hand into the nearby shed, grinning as she turned and headed out of the stables. Her smile widened as she stepped into one of many of Winterfell's open areas. She inhaled the smell of smoke from the Smiths next to her, listening to the harsh sounds of a hammer imprinting on hot metal. Maerad paused and watched as the men and women rushed by, all with serious expressions, clearly with somewhere important to be. Many probably still had errands left to complete for the day.

Maerad closed her eyes, breathing in the putrid smells and loving every bit of the hectic atmosphere. It was days like this that she was proud to be from the North. She didn't care for fancy clothes or warm weather, or ladies in revealing dresses like the lifestyle of the other six kingdoms. Maerad much preferred the chill that hung in the air constantly, even during the long summers and the winter-hardened men with their rough hands and loud, bellowing laughs. Sure it could be barbaric sometimes, but it was home. Winterfell, of the House Stark was the only place she knew. And she knew it well.

Maerad idly made her way through the muddy streets, occasionally nodding hello to a familiar face. Her boots sloshed in the mud and her clothes were caked in dirt but she barely noticed. Her clothes were hardly expensive. In fact, the only expensive thing she owned was a leather bracelet with a direwolf indented in it. It had been a gift from Robb – the direwolf was a House sigil that they both shared, the Cassel House had ten white wolf heads, arrangeed as 4-3-2-1, on grey with a black border; the Stark's was a grey direwolf racing across a field of white. The only other jewellery that she owned was a 16th name day present from her father. It was a necklace with her sigil engraved on the underside. It wasn't anything special, but it was the thought that counted.

Maerad made her way towards the training grounds that everyone used for fight practice. She knew they would be there. It was rare if there weren't training. Maerad had affectionately named them the 'troublesome trio' after the many escapades that they used to have as children.

She heard them first. The familiar sounds of wood clashing with wood. As she turned the corner, she saw a man fall to the ground and heard the delighted shouts from two bystanders. Maerad recognised them as Theon and Jon simply from their stances. Theon Greyjoy was stood almost squarely towards Jon, giving him a bigger target. He sat low in his stance and evenly weighted, prepared to either strike or defend. His fighting style was much more about strength and momentum behind his sword.

Jon was almost completely the opposite. He stood side on, barely crouched at all, more like he was on tiptoes and he delicately placed each foot perfectly around him. His style was much more relaxed and admittedly more flamboyant. Jon was better, but he was too sure of himself. This is why Theon had just knocked him to the ground when Maerad had entered.

Robb and Bran were the first to spot her. They were both leaning on the fence at the side-lines, laughing giddily at Jon's fall. Bran, the younger of the two, saw her and eagerly waved her over, calling her name. This action made Robb turn, his fiery hair flaming in the sun. He smiled widely when he saw her.

Maerad reached them quickly and was about to hug Robb when Bran jumped into her arms.

"Oh, Bran!" She wheezed, "You're getting too big for this!"

Bran simply nuzzled his face into her neck. His nose was pleasantly warm against her bare neck. Maerad ruffled his hair and he let go. Before she had time to recover, Robb pulled her into a strong embrace.

"Glad you could finally join us," He whispered in her ear. Maerad caught herself before her knees buckled at the sound of his voice. There was some kind of connection between them that she just couldn't explain. It wasn't just raw, physical heat between them; he made her feel comfortable and safe.

"I wouldn't miss Jon losing for the world." She replied as the two let go of each other. Something in Bran's eyes made her feel as though they had held each other for just a little too long. Maerad blushed under the brother's gaze. The three of them exchanged awkward looks. They quickly turned back to the competition in front of them. Jon had witnessed the entire thing and waved at her before setting his eyes back on Theon. The boys –Theon, Robb and Jon – were fiercely competitive and Maerad knew Jon wouldn't go down without a fight. Theon simply ignored her presence and continued to tease Jon with harsh remarks.

"Jon will beat Theon. Without a doubt." Bran declared next to her. Robb and Maerad exchanged a sly glance.

"Are you sure about that, little lord?" Maerad let her brown eyes fall on Bran questioningly. Bran nodded curtly. Maerad smiled.

"Care to make it interesting?" Bran met her challenging gaze. He nodded again.

"How about 2 Gold Dragons!" Bran exclaimed. Maerad laughed, astonished.

"I'm no noble Bran! I don't even have 1 Gold Dragon." She saw the glint in his eye and her face became serious again, "Fine. I hope you are prepared to lose." Maerad turned back to the competition. She knew she had to win now. Robb seemed to have a grin permanently plastered on his face.

"Jon is by far a better swordsman." Bran stated, puffing out his chest at the pride in knowing something 'grown-up'.

Maerad nodded gravely, "Yes. The Hare was a better runner though and yet didn't win the race."

Bran silently pondered this. Maerad could practically see his 9-year-old brain ticking. Maerad winked at Robb, who shook his head in despair.

Robb was probably the only person that could put up with her usual shenanigans. Maerad counted herself lucky to have such close proximity to one of the Great Houses. The only reason for this was that the Cassel's and Stark's both had deep, intertwining roots. Her father, Jory Cassel, was Captain of the Guards here at Winterfell. They were not knights, the North rarely knighted anyone. They were, however, tasked with the same responsibilities that the Kingsguard would have, protecting Lord Ned Stark rather than a king. Her Great Uncle, ser Rodrick Cassel was master-at-arms and castellan of Winterfell. Maerad wasn't completely sure what this meant he did. All she knew was that he and her father spent every day working beside Lord Stark himself. Over her 17 years, this meant she had grown up running around the ancient castle with Robb Stark and Jon Snow nipping at her heels. The Stark's treated her like family, an honour that a peasant girl like herself didn't deserve.

Bran sighed, "Okay, I don't understand."

Maerad kept her gaze steady on the two boys in front of her.

"Watch closely. Jon is a better swordsman, yes. But he is arrogant. He knows he is better and that is what makes him worse," Bran exchanged a look with Robb. Robb simply shook his head and told him silently to listen and watch. The two boys continued to spar ferociously in front of them.

"See here. Jon is going to try and take out Theon's front leg, now, to knock him off balance. Theon will move quicker and take out the side that Jon left unguarded." She paused as the fighting in front of them went exactly as she predicted. Bran's mouth fell open.

"Shut your mouth Bran or you'll catch flies." Maerad scolded teasingly. Bran did as he was told.

"That's also another reason why standing side on isn't always best." Robb joined the conversation.

"So what is the best way to stand?"

"None." Maerad and Robb chimed in unison. Bran looked shocked.

"The best way, is no way. Never put yourself in the position where you need to fight." Maerad allowed Robb to take over as she watched Theon knock Jon to the floor for the last time. "And if you do, find your own way of standing. One that suits your style and means that you can beat the fool that tried to battle a Stark." Bran smiled and Robb winked at him. Maerad simply rolled her eyes.

"Of course, because Starks are the best swordfighters to have ever graced the land." Theon chimed sarcastically. Maerad groaned inwardly.

"Relax, Theon." Robb sighed. Theon snapped his head to glare at Robb, stupidly challenging him. Bran interrupted before Theon could reply.

"Does this mean I lost the bet?" Theon and Jon exchanged a confused look.

"Yes it does, little lord. Hand it over." Maerad's face went stone cold with seriousness and she gestured stiffly with her hand. Bran sighed and reached into his pocket. His face dropped instantly.

"What's wrong?" Maerad frowned.

Bran glanced to his feet and started shuffling them uncomfortably, "Well, I... Uhm. I don't have enough." He avoided Maerad's icy glare.

"Pay me what you can and get me the rest later," Maerad shrugged. She honestly wasn't taking this quite so seriously.

Bran nodded and looked over her shoulder at Robb. Maerad turned away, rolling her eyes as Theon finally caught up with the conversation.

"Wait. You betted that I would lose?" Maerad met his cold eyes with a lazily glance.

"Correction. Bran bet that you would lose."

"Why?"

Maerad sighed. She was closer to these nobles than to her neighbours but she still couldn't stand Theon Greyjoy. Maerad could easily list 10 things that she hated about him. He was crude, big-headed and acted as if he was entitled to everything. This apparently included all the available women of the North, hence why whores called him the Squid behind his back – only a stab at his House sigil. She could appreciate that it must have been hard to be taken away from his family at such a young age and forced to live with a family of strangers, one of whom tried to kill your own father. But Maerad couldn't shake the feeling that Theon would turn against the Starks for even the slightest bribe. That worried Maerad deeply and had developed over the years into hatred. A point that hadn't gone unnoticed by Theon and he not-so-graciously returned the sentiment. Still, she put up with him because he was Robb's best friend – not that she understood why.

Robb tried to relax his friend, "It doesn't matter, Theon. You won anyway, right?"

Theon shook his head vehemently, "You people don't think I'm better than Jon?" Jon's eyes widened at his name being mentioned.

"Well, no. Because you aren't." Maerad put it bluntly.

Theon scowled at her while Jon chuckled proudly to himself. Theon raised his wooden sword to her head slowly.

"If you think you know so much, whore," Theon spat, "Why don't you come and teach me a lesson?"

Maerad felt her anger rising. Not to mention the bile in her throat at the multitude of innuendos that Theon would surely have thought of. As if to answer her thought, Theon smiled grimly.

Beside her she felt Robb stiffen. Jon joined in, providing the moment with his usual wit. 

"Yeah, Maerad. Teach Theon how to fight properly." Jon winked and passed her his wooden sword. 

Robb laughed, the sound not matching the emotion of his glare at Theon, "I don't think we have enough time for that."

Maerad laughed too and Theon's eyes glazed coldly. His expression remained deadly serious as he carefully watched Maerad jump the railing effortlessly and stride towards him.

Maerad gripped the sword hilt like her father had taught; lightly for able movement but firm between the thumb and forefinger so as to not drop it. She could almost picture him whispering instructions in her ear like he used to when they were younger.

From the side-lines, Bran watched eagerly. "What's Maerad's fighting stance like then?" Bran had noticed that she stood exactly how she did when simply walking around Winterfell.

Robb and Jon grinned, "That is her stance," Robb whispered, "Her father taught her that the best fighters can win even when they aren't ready. So her told her to stand straight and relaxed, as if walking around in the godswood."

Bran nodded, storing the information and examining every detail.

Maerad and Theon circled each other slowly, placing each foot gently on the muddy surface.

Suddenly, Theon shouted and burst forward, bringing his sword up above his head to slam down on her top half. Maerad watched it calmly the whole way and easily dodged with a small step to the right. As he barrelled past – missing her completely – she slammed her sword on his spine with a tiny, swift flick of her wrist. Theon bellowed at the pain.

Their audience cheered with delight. Robb laughed at Theon's angry face. Out of the corner of his eye, Robb saw a glint of metal. He turned to see Maerad's father, Jory Cassel, leaning lazily on the railing with a smile spread across his face. Jory sensed eyes on him and met Robb's squarely. Blue eyes on blue eyes. Jory nodded in acknowledgement and turned back to his daughter.

Maerad dodged another identical attack from Theon, this time aiming her sword at the back of his knees. Theon gritted his teeth, readying himself to go again. Theon lifted his sword to the right, going for a side swipe. Maerad seized this opportunity to strike first and quickly sprang forwards, slamming her sword into his chest. Theon collapsed to his knees, winded. Maerad hadn't finished yet though. As she passed him, she span and swatted his neck with the flat edge of her sword.

Bored, Maerad turned and headed towards the three watching. She noticed with a smile that they were all wearing different expressions. Bran was in total awe. His eyes were wide and mouth was ajar. Jon was virtually expressionless. Jon had had a hard time beating Theon and clearly didn't like that she had done it so easily. Maerad winked at Bran. Robb's face was much better. He was smiling broadly and he had a strange glint in his strikingly blue eyes. She looked at him questioningly. He said nothing, simply jerked his head to her left. She followed his indication and spotted a man wearing full armour, leaning on the fence. She squinted against the sun and quickly kicked herself for not noticing who it was beforehand.

Dropping her sword, Maerad ran towards her father. It was rare for him to get any time free to see her, so Maerad was naturally suspicious. Maerad hurdled the fence easily and leaped into her father's arms. He huffed loudly, as she had done when Bran had done the same.

"Mae, you're hurting my shoulders."

"Sorry." She released him, "I forgot how constricting your armour is."

Jory smiled and waved his hand dismissively.

"That was impressive. Carry on like that and you'll have me out of a job." They laughed.

"Seriously. What's going on?"

"Can a man not come and watch his daughter and only child embarrass the heir to the Iron Islands. I never get to see you."

"Exactly. You never get to see me unless it's really important. Which usually means nothing good." Jory sighed.

"You need to stop sounding so much like your mother." Maerad saw a flash of sadness in her father's eyes and felt a pang of sympathy for him. Maerad was told constantly that she looked like her mother. Maerad could only just remember her. She had been a handmaid to Lady Catelyn Stark. She had died when Maerad was 11 from the influenza. Maerad could see on her father's face how much it pained him whenever her name was mentioned. He hid it well from others, but Maerad knew him too well. And now she was starting to look exactly like her. The same dark, tousled brown hair and deep blue eyes and the same olive coloured skin. Maerad could only imagine the pain he must feel inside every time he looked at his daughter.

"A deserter from the Night's Watch has been found." Maerad's heart caught in her throat.

"Go and help Caine to prepare the horses." Maerad nodded and started to walk away. "And Bran's too." Maerad froze, mid-stride. She span around and marched back to her father.

"Bran? He's only nine!"

"So were Robb and Jon the first time." Maerad saw in his eyes that he didn't agree with it either. Maerad let out an exasperated sigh. "Look, Maerad. Ned thinks Bran is ready, so Bran is going too. Period." With that, Jory turned and stormed over to Robb and the others.

Maerad watched them closely. Jon and Theon reacted least. They simply turned away and headed towards the main gate, to wait for their horses. Robb's first reaction was to look at his little brother. He looked terrified. Something unreadable to Maerad flashed in Robb's eyes. A mixture of grief and sadness. He regained his composure and ushered the frozen Bran out of the training yard.

With a sigh, Maerad dutifully ran to the stables.


	2. Chapter 2

After watching Lord Stark's party leave, making sure that Bran was okay and securely saddled, Maerad made her way to Arya's chambers. Arya, the youngest Stark daughter, should have been in lessons with her Septa. Maerad had gone there first, only to be told by a very disgruntled Septa Mordane that Arya was claiming to be "unwell" and refusing to come to her sewing lesson. At this, Maerad had laughed and received an angry scowl from the Septa. Sansa offered that she should try her chambers, saying that it was easier to avoid her parents by not walking around in - quite literally - their hallways. Maerad had quickly thanked her and departed, seeking out the little tomboy.

Maerad knocked on Arya's door, announcing herself. She heard light footsteps from inside the room and within a second, the heavy wooden door was swung open. Maerad glanced down to see bright, grey eyes staring back at her. Arya's face flashed with recognition and she jumped with glee.

"Calm down, Underfoot." Maerad smiled and let herself in. With anyone else, it would have been extremely rude and disrespectful for Maerad, a stable hand, to just walk into a Lady's chambers without being invited. But with Arya, it was perfectly normal. Arya wasn't exactly a perfect lady and probably wouldn't have thought about the common courtesies when it came to her friends. That, and the fact that Arya considered Maerad to be her older sister, meant that all policies as far as Arya was concerned, went out the window with Maerad around.

Inside, Maerad took her usual spot on the window ledge, perching easily with one leg tucked underneath her.

"Sansa tells me that you bailed on sewing?" Maerad raised one eyebrow at the 11-year-old. Arya scoffed in disgust and flopped onto her bed.

"Septa Mordane is a horrible little woman, who doesn't understand that  _I_ don't want to be a lady!"

"Careful," Maerad warned, her voice taking an authoritative edge, "She may not understand you but you cannot go around insulting people." Arya huffed and crossed her arms defiantly.

Changing the subject, Maerad asked, "If you aren't going to be a lady, what will you be instead?" Arya paused and her face scrunched up as she thought carefully, before suddenly springing up from the bed.

"I want to be like you!" Arya exclaimed, grinning broadly.

Maerad was taken aback, "A stable hand?"

"No silly!" Arya waved her hands around frantically as she searched for the words to describe what she really meant, "I want to be the best sword fighter in Westeros. I want to be one of Robb's banner-men. Or would it be banner-women?" Maerad laughed, "Are there any banner-women?"

"I don't know, Underfoot. You're the one with the lessons. Even though you never seem to actually pay attention." Arya frowned and sat on the bed once more.

"Mother doesn't like to see me fighting." Arya's voice was so soft it was almost inaudible.

"I know."

"But why? Every lady should learn to defend herself. She'd be no use otherwise."

"Lady Catelyn is a smart woman. She knows, better than most, what a lady should and shouldn't do." Maerad watched Arya's face drop, "Besides, I think your mother is more offended when you don't go to your lessons."

Arya's eyes glinted but she said nothing. 

Maerad turned her head to look out of the window. Below, she could see the butcher, brutally carving up a carcass. From the first floor window, Maerad could see past the castle walls and all the way across the plains to the Wolfswood. Maerad felt something internally tugging her towards the woods. There was something alluring about the way the trees swayed gracefully in the wind and the darkness that the canopies created. If she was outside, Maerad could be sure that she would hear the sounds of tree leaves rattling and the birds calling one another.

"Arya?" Maerad didn't turn to look at her, "Feel like going for a ride?"

Maerad finally turned to face Arya with a cheeky grin on her face and glint in her eye. She saw from the look on Arya's face that she agreed.

* * *

Down in the stables, Arya mostly watched as Maerad prepared the horses. She gave Arya her usual horse and let her get on herself. It was a calm mare and was perfect for a beginner rider.

After saddling her own horse, the two headed out of the East gate and towards the Wolfswood. They rode mostly in silence until they were clear of the open ground and into the woods. Under the trees it could be quite dark and to an untrained eye, it would be easy to get lost. Arya was less experienced due to her age and so Maerad led the way. They slowed their horses to a walk and Arya pulled her horse next to Maerad's.

"That's a really lovely horse, Mae. Is it yours?" Arya feigned interest. Maerad smiled. Arya wasn't fond of silences, whereas Maerad found them peaceful.

"He," Maerad stroked the dark horse gently, "is a born fighting horse. A war horse. He was my grandfather's." Arya nodded. She had heard of Maerad's grandfather. He had been a popular man and was loved by many people in Winterfell. He had died a long time ago and Arya had never gotten to meet him but her father spoke highly of him when mentioned. Maerad had lost a lot of family members and Arya knew that when her grandfather died, Jory had given the horse to his wife. After her death, Jory had passed it on to Maerad. The horse was very old now but he was still going strong. Maerad felt a deep connection to the horse and Arya thought it was understandable that she would continue to ride it even past it's prime days.

The horse would probably never see another battle but as long as he was able, he would be Maerad's mount. Caine understood and so never argued with her choice. Robb did however. He thought that it was a bad idea to ride him if he could possibly collapse halfway into the woods, giving Maerad no way back and no mount. Maerad simply argued that any horse could go lame. He was a strong horse, a dark chestnut with a white stripe on his nose. Moat. It wasn't exactly a typical war horse name but Moat served the Cassels, much like a moat protects a castle.

They carried on at a snail's pace, Arya eagerly quizzing Maerad with an array of questions; from her favourite bed time story, to her mother's family. It kept them both in good spirits, laughing at each other.

Arya put on a serious face, "Are you and Robb going to get married?"

Maerad pulled Moat to a halt.

"What gave you that idea?" Maerad felt her cheeks flush.

Arya giggled, "The fact that you blush every time someone mentions him." Maerad's hand flew up to her face, "Don't worry about it, your bright red cheeks are barely noticeable." Arya winked. Maerad huffed in defeat and moved her horse forward again.

"No."

"No? That's it?" Arya was shocked. She then realised that Maerad was already disappearing into the forest. She kicked her horse into a trot, "But you and Robb are perfect for each other! Everyone knows that!"

Arya pulled her horse next to Maerad's as she sighed, "Robb will be Lord of Winterfell someday. His -  _Your_ Father will want to marry him off to some pretty, little rich lady. I'm afraid there are no swords in all of Westeros that could assist me with that fight."

"Robb won't stand for it. He could-"

"Robb won't have a choice about the matter."

Arya went silent once more, searching for some kind of response that wouldn't make things possibly worse. She settled on flattery.

"You are 10 times prettier than any of those Southern girls. And you're more intelligent, and a better fighter than most men..."

"Arya!" Maerad cut her off, laughing at her lousy attempts, "None of that matters."

Sensing the conversation had ended, Arya made a mental note to complain about this later to her Father. He would listen, she figured, more than her Mother would. Arya's father had always been more understanding when it came to his children. He had learnt from his previous mistakes and no longer took his family for granted.

Maerad announced that it was probably best that they went home. The sun had almost set behind the trees, lighting the sky in a magnificent red-orange colour. They navigated their horses through the woods quickly, Maerad taking the lead once more. Once they had Winterfell in their sights, they pushed the horses into a steady gallop. Maerad would have hell to pay if Arya wasn't home before night fell.

Arya's compliments still rang in her head. Intelligent was a stretch. She had never had a lesson with a Septa in her life, and the only books she could read were ones that had pictures in them, and even then she didn't have the time - or patience, for that matter - to actually read them. But of all the things that bothered her about that conversation, the one that really got to her was the part about Robb. Maerad couldn't help but think how awkward it could be between her and Robb from now on.

* * *

**A couple of days later.**

Maerad was sat in the stables, cleaning off the last saddle of the day. She looked up and sighed. The room was quiet, the horses rarely made much noise but the smell was horrific. Maerad was used to it by now but it had just sank in, after looking down at her manure-caked trousers, that she had a truly disgusting job.

Over the past two days, the stables had been quiet, barely any large parties going out. This meant Caine had been able to send her off to other parts of Winterfell to conduct his chores. Maerad didn't really mind, it gave her a chance to interact with other Winterfell servants and to see her old friends. The only benefit, other than sneaking a bite every now and then when the kitchen staff weren't looking, was that she hadn't had a single run-in with Robb. After her talk in the Wolfswood with Arya, Maerad didn't know if she could face him.

But now she was back in the stables all day with flexible hours and the smallest number of chores known to man. She was nearly finished for the day and she was sure it was barely noon. No doubt a run-in with Robb was imminent. As if hearing her thoughts, Maerad heard a rustle from the door behind her.

"Bran's been looking for you." Maerad jumped at the sound of his voice.

"Seven Hells!" Maerad spun to face him, masking her face with a smile. Robb didn't. His face gave away nothing but his eyes said it all. Robb was upset with her. She could see his mouth twitch, wanting to smile. She knew he was finding it difficult to stay angry at her. She figured that was maybe a good thing. 

A small bark broke their thoughts.

"What does Bran want?" Maerad asked, turning back to the saddle to purposely avoid eye contact with Robb.

"Nothing much, probably just upset that you've been avoiding him." Robb crouched to the direwolf and ruffled the fur on it's back, "I can't say I blame him. I get where he's coming from."

Maerad didn't respond.

"You've been avoiding me. What did I do wrong?" Maerad sensed him take a step towards her and noticed the pain etched into his voice as he asked. Still, she refused to look at him.

"Maerad."

Maerad sighed and stood up.

"Not here. Let's go for a walk." Robb's eyebrows twitched but he nodded.

Neither said a word but both knew where they were going. The Godswood. There they wouldn't be bothered and their conversation could be watched over silently by the Old Gods.

The direwolf pup wandered by Robb's side, never venturing too far. The walk was short and as soon as Robb closed the gate behind them, he turned on Maerad. He didn't utter a word, simply fixed her with a cool, iron glare. His eyes said one thing:  _Speak._

"I wasn't avoiding you, Robb." Maerad took a deep breath. She had no idea how she was going to tell Robb her fears. Robb raised one eyebrow.

"Okay, fine. Sorry. Yes, I was avoiding you." Maerad diverted her gaze.

"Why? What did I do?" Robb's voice was soft, a stark contrast to the look in his eyes. He clearly didn't want it to seem like he was upset, but Maerad knew him better than that.

"Nothing. You did nothing wrong." Maerad sighed, grasping for the words, "It's just Arya and I were talking the other day and... and.." Maerad flushed, "She asked if we were going to marry one day."

She heard a soft crunch as Robb shuffled around.

"What did you say?" Maerad looked up at him. She knew he already knew what she had said, but decided to humour him.

"I said no." She saw a flash of disappointment in Robb's eyes but it was quickly replaced by understanding. Robb was no fool. He knew that his Mother planned to auction him off to the highest bidder. 

The cold wind whipped at their faces like angry tree vines. Maerad brushed a strand of dark brown hair out of her face. Out of the corner of her eye, Maerad spotted Robb's direwolf playing with a tree root. He grasped at it with his tiny, razor sharp teeth and then pummelled it with his hind legs. Robb laughed quietly beside her and she realised he was watching the pup too. Maerad broke the bubble of silence.

"Have you got a name for him yet?"

Robb glanced sideways at her. She saw a corner of his lip turn up in the beginnings of a grin. He was glad of the distraction from their thoughts too.

"No. I thought maybe you could help me."

Maerad glanced around the Godswood, searching for inspiration. As she thought, another gust of wind barraged the pair - stronger this time - forcing Maerad sideways and even closer to Robb. He didn't even flinch. She figured he had gotten over the whole marriage debacle.

"How about Grey Wind?" Robb gave her a quizical look, "Well his fur is grey and it's really windy." Maerad rolled her eyes as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Robb regarded her with a smile dancing across his face. 

He nodded, "Grey Wind it is."

They shared a smile and Maerad achingly remembered what life was like when they were children. Carefree, everyday an adventure and they would fill the halls of Winterfell with their laughter and footsteps. They never had to think about the future back then. Now, that was all Robb was allowed to think about. All his life had been preparing him for the day when he would have to take over from Lord Stark. Not that Ned appeared to be looking to retire anytime soon. Eventually, Robb would be Lord and he would no longer be allowed to just let go and go for a ride in the Wolfswood with a stablehand. He wouldn't have time for childhood friends. He wouldn't have time for Jon, his bastard brother. He wouldn't have time for Maerad.

Maerad turned away to watch Grey Wind rolling in the dirt. Robb must have noticed a change in her face as he put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Robb Stark!" A voice interrupted their moment and Maerad jumped in surprise. Robb turned around calmly to regard the newcomer. His face dropped immediately. Maerad followed his gaze. A small and aesthetically unpleasing man was running through the gate and towards the pair of them at an outrageous speed.

Robb sighed in annoyance, "Thron!"

The man froze. "Yes?"

Maerad saw Robb internally groan. Whoever this man was, he wasn't exactly the sharpest knife in the castle.

"Respect, Thron. You are in the Godswood. Treat it with respect." Robb scolded.

"Ah, of course Lord Stark." Thron now began walking at a ridiculous pace, almost in slow motion.

Robb raked a hand down his face.

"Lord Stark is my father. It's just Robb."

"Ah of course, Robb." Thron continued to creep slowly towards them.

"What do you want, Thron!" Robb was getting impatient now. Maerad supressed a giggle.

"Your father-"

"Lord Stark, to you." Maerad interrupted, enjoying watching the man squirm. Robb flashed a glare in her direction. She knew what he meant,  _like you can really talk._ Maerad raised her hands in idle defeat.

"Sorry Ma'am.. or M'lady.. uhm," Thron stumbled over his words, "Lord Stark wishes to see you, Robb."

"And he is where?" Robb was becoming more and more agitated.

"Oh right! He's in his chambers."

"Thank you, Thron." Maerad heard him mutter, "I think," under his breath. Robb expected the man to leave after his message had been delivered. Instead, he just stood there, grinning stupidly. Robb and Maerad exchanged a sly smile.

"You can leave now, Thron." Robb watched him bow awkwardly and waited for him to waddle away, before they both burst into laughter. 

"I should probably go." Robb faked a smile.

"Yeah, me too."

"I'll walk you to.. uh.. Wherever it is that you're going." They both laughed.

"No it's fine. I'll probably head back to the stables anyway." Robb nodded. They both remained still for a minute longer, neither of them wanting to be the first to move. Before Maerad could react, Robb quickly wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her into a hug. He was suprisingly gentle and Maerad hugged him back, glad that things finally felt normal between them.

Robb said his goodbyes and left, Grey Wind trotting happily by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter this time, and hopefully better written.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, but I thought I'd give you all some new chapters.

"The King? Here in Winterfell?" Maerad gave Caine a wary look, fearing that he was tricking her, " The King is coming to Winterfell? The King here in Winterfell?"

Caine sighed, "No matter how many times you say it, it never stops being true."

"But.. Why?"

Caine rubbed his beard in mocking wise-ness, "Ah, so many questions for a mind so innocent." Caine bent over to dip his sponge into the bucket. He was stood in the yard outside the stable, sponging down one of the horses. Maerad punched him in the arm playfully.

"Whoever said I was innocent?" Maerad joked along. Caine raised an eyebrow and smirked. He could tell she was joking, she had a tell.

"Was that another question?"

Maerad rolled her eyes, admitting defeat. Caine was much wittier than her. To most, Caine would appear to be a simple, jolly stable manager. Those that knew him, however, weren't so quick to judge him. Caine could be complicated; He could be the happiest person one moment, and the next be grinding his teeth on the souls of stupid, little stableboys. Not Maerad, though. Caine treated her much more kindly than any of the other stablehands. Probably because she had more brain cells than all of them combined. He was a great man, in Maerad's opinion and she viewed him almost as a crazy uncle. But although he liked to joke around, he took his responsibilities very seriously. Maerad didn't consider him as old, yet she knew he was at least her Great Uncle's age.

As she thought over Caine's words while she worked, she realised that things in Winterfell were about to change. Temporarily, Maerad would have to make herself scarce around the Stark children. No doubt, there were only a handful of reasons why King Baratheon would come this far North. Maerad didn't see any of them as a good thing. With the arrival of the King in just a few days, Maerad's liberties around Winterfell would surely be knocked back. It meant that, out of politeness to the King and Queen, Maerad wouldn't see the Starks much during their visit. Hopefully, the younger Starks would understand; but it would need to come from her.

Maerad made her excuses to Caine. She walked briskly, ever aware of the eyes watching her every move. She headed straight to Sansa's chambers and knocked firmly on the door. Sansa's soft voice called her in. Maerad entered, catching the eye of Sansa's maid. She bowed and left, leaving Maerad feeling slightly awkward. She hated it when people bowed to her, just as much as Robb hated being called 'Lord'. In what world are stablehands bowed to by chambermaids? Maerad knew that her friendship with the Starks made her an exception to the rule but she hated that privileged feeling.

Sansa spotted her through the mirror and turned to Maerad, beaming. It struck her in that moment, how much Sansa looked like her mother. With the light from the window bathing her red hair, she was the spitting image of Lady Catelyn.

"Maerad! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Maerad resisted the urge to groan. The common courtesies of Lord's and Ladies were completely lost on Maerad. She carried on regardless, refusing to correct Sansa on something that she regarded as just friendship.

"I'm sure you've heard by now that we are expecting Royal guests."

Sansa's face lit up. She had always been more open to her fate of becoming a Lady, however, she was becoming mildly obsessed with the Southern Courts. Maerad knew it was only natural to be attracted to the fineries and the wealth that the South provided. But Maerad's only worry was that if Sansa disappeared South to marry a rich Lord, Maerad would no longer be able to protect her. Sansa lived a very sheltered life compared to Arya and that was simply because Maerad felt she was not strong enough, mentally, to cope with... certain things. Maerad just prayed that she would grow out of it.

"Yes. I cannot wait!" Sansa bobbed up and down in her seat, "I hear Joffrey Baratheon is coming too." Maerad scoffed. She saw Sansa's face drop and quickly disguised it with a cough. Joffrey Baratheon was almost a whole year older than her and Robb and although she had never met him, Maerad could guess he was pretty much exactly the same as any young man from the South. Obsessed with power and wealth. Not to mention, he had Lannister in his blood; the richest family in Westeros. This immediately put him at a disadvantage in Maerad's opinion. Joffrey's abundance of money meant that he didn't understand what it was like for a common person to be poor or go hungry, or watch their mother die of starvation. He was nothing that Maerad wanted to support.

"Well, their arrival means that things between us will have to change." Sansa raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

"Why, Lady Maerad?" Maerad didn't disguise her groan this time.

"Starting with that. You can no longer call me 'Lady'."

"What?" Sansa stood up.

"Don't argue with me. It would be disrespectful. I am only a stablehand after all."

Sansa flopped back onto her chair. Maerad leaned against her bedpost.

"You must be on your best behaviour. Promise me?"

Sansa nodded. Maerad realised that she had slipped into her 'older sister' tone accidentally. She didn't correct it though, it seemed to be effective.

"Good. If you see me, refer to me only as Maerad. Not Mae or Lady. We must act as if we are not friends."

Sansa nodded once more. Maerad noticed that her maid hadn't finished Sansa's hair. Maerad rolled her eyes and turned Sansa to the mirror. As she began fixing the maid's mess, there was a gentle knock at the door.

"Who is it?" Sansa called over her shoulder.

The silky smooth voice of Lady Catelyn Stark replied with, "Only your mother."

"Of course. Come in, come in!" Maerad didn't take her gaze from the back of Sansa's head as she twirled a lock of hair and pinned it back. She heard the door open and close.

"Ah, Maerad. Do you mind?" Lady Stark politely asked for some privacy, waiting a comfortable distance away.

"No, not at all." Maerad smiled as she finished with Sansa's hair. She stepped back and nodded to Lady Catelyn, "I was just finished anyway." Catelyn and Maerad shared a friendly smile. Maerad started walking out when she felt Catelyn grab her arm. They locked eye contact.

"No matter what happens, just remember that you are always welcome in my home." Maerad heard a sad twinge in Catelyn's voice. Something about her was odd. Maerad couldn't quite place it.

Maerad quickly said her goodbyes and left. She made her way through the hallways slowly, pondering over what had just happened. Things had always been frosty between Catelyn and Maerad. Maerad didn't know if it was because she was too close to Robb or because she was just a stablehand. Maerad knew that Catelyn disapproved of Jon and of Jon and Robb's relationship. Maerad didn't understand why but then again she wasn't married.

But Catelyn had never been too pleased with Maerad having full reign of Winterfell. So why she was welcoming Maerad into her home now, after all this time?  
Maybe Maerad was just being paranoid. To anyone else, it may have seemed as though Catelyn was being polite. To Maerad, it sounded like a warning.  
Catelyn knew something. And she sure as seven hells wasn't going to tell Maerad if she did.


	4. Chapter 4

A chilly, Northern breeze swept in through the open window, billowing around Maerad's face and sending a shiver down her spine. Maerad pulled the blanket up to her chin, shielding herself from the cold. Night had slowly crept in and the sky beyond Maerad's window was a silky, smooth midnight blue.

Maerad's head was still spinning over Lady Catelyn's cryptic words. Even after an entire week, she still didn't know what to make of it. The royal party would arrive tomorrow according to her father. In the morning, he would ride out to meet them and guide them to Winterfell.

Maerad's suspicions that Catelyn knew something had been confirmed when she ran into Jon at the training ground. Apparently, the King's Hand, Jon Arryn had passed away and the King was yet to name a new one. Jon didn't know what to make of the whole scenario; He probably didn't even care. But Maerad had her suspicions. Her list of reasons for the King's visit had just shrunk dramatically.

Maerad suspected that her job was to become extremely arduous over the next few days. The other stableboys would handle the King's procession as they arrived, leaving Maerad to welcome their guests with the rest of Winterfell. Maerad had vowed that if any of the King's men or women confused her for a maid, she would start slitting throats and gutting men sooner than she would like to.

As Maerad stared into the distance, trying to let sleep drag her thoughts away from violence on her soon-to-be guests, she heard a voice at the door. Maerad sat bolt upright. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Maerad pondered whether someone knew of her thoughts of murder but quicker discarded that notion. Again, a cold breeze swept in through the window. Maerad ignored it and listened closer.

A voice whispered, "Maerad."

Maerad jumped. She recovered her voice to calmly reply, "Who's there?" In reality, her heart was still racing ten to the dozen.

The same voice replied, "Your favourite Stark."

Maerad laughed and rolled her eyes. She slid out of her bed and crossed the room, sliding the latch to unlock the door. As she did so she teased, "Jon?"

The door opened slightly and Robb Stark's head appeared around the side. He frowned and playfully stuck his tongue out at her.

"Are you alone?" He asked. Maerad's face dropped into a scowl.

"It's the middle of the night, Robb. Of course I'm alone."

"Sorry. Just making sure." With that, he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. Maerad walked over to the window and closed it forcefully. The window was old and would jam if you weren't strong enough. As a child, Maerad was terrified that if she opened the window, she would never get it closed again and so she refused to open it. It didn't matter too much as Winterfell was always well ventilated. A little too ventilated sometimes.

Robb and Maerad didn't say a word but took their usual positions next to each other on her bed. Maerad felt nostalgia rush over her in a wave.

When they were children, Robb would sneak into her room at night and they would talk for hours. The next day, neither would speak of it, fearing what each others parents would do if they found out. Robb was worried that if Catelyn discovered them together, she would take it out on Maerad's parents. As they got older, the visits became more frequent and Robb started to fall asleep in her room. He was an early riser so was always out before anyone could see them together in the morning. They became each others confidant, telling each other things that they would never tell anybody else.

The visits stopped completely a couple of years ago after Robb had an argument with his mother over a possible marriage to a nearby bannerman's daughter. He had visited her that night but not once since.

It was in that moment, as Maerad watched Robb struggling to get comfortable on her bed that Maerad realised what Catelyn meant. Before too long, Robb would have a wife to share those moments with. Catelyn was saying that Maerad would always have a place in  _her_ home. Not Robb's. The same place as her mentor and friend, Caine. The stables.

Maerad and Robb fell asleep without saying a word to each other. 

 

* * *

 

 

Maerad pushed her way through the gathering crowd looking for a friendly face. Many people from the nearby villages had flooded to Winterfell to see the King arrive. It meant that the otherwise subdued streets were bustling like a bee hive. Maerad politely squeezed past a young family, apologising as she knocked over a young girl. The girl started to cry and Maerad heard the girl's father call out his abuse to her. Maerad gritted her teeth and braced herself to confront the angry man.

However, before she could turn around, she heard a familiar sleazy voice say, "Oi! Sir. Yes, you. Be careful who you talk to. That's Maerad Cassel. And my name is Theon Greyjoy of the Iron Islands. Now I suggest you shut your trap and provide a good example to our guests." Maerad rolled her eyes. Arrogant as always. 

Theon came up behind her and put a firm hand on her shoulder, "Coming to stand with us, Maerad?" Before she could reply, Theon's grip tightened and he started leading her away. Maerad tugged against him but Theon was a lot stronger than he looked. She relented and allowed him to guide her through the ever-growing throng.

Eventually, she saw her Great Uncle Rodrick stood behind the Starks and walked over to him, Theon finally releasing his grip on her shoulder. She respectfully slid in next to Rodrick, and he smiled at her.

"Decided to join us, Mae?" Maerad didn't respond just caught the eye of Theon on his other side. She shot him a look that said "Say nothing of what happened with the child." Theon just smiled slyly but kept his mouth shut.

It seemed childish but if Rodrick heard that she knocked a child over and Theon threatened the father, then there would be hell to pay for both of them. Out of the corner of her eye, Maerad spotted some young children playing with a pile of hay. Maerad groaned. She didn't take kindly to children that couldn't sit still when they should be. Arya used to be like that, in fact some would say that she still was, but Maerad knew that all Arya needed was a bit of interest in something and she would do it for hours.

Just as the children were being told off swiftly by their mother, Jory trotted through the gates, announcing the presence of the King's procession. All at once, the crowd of Winterfell stood up a little straighter. The first to come through were the Kingsguard, one of whom was wearing a large helmet in the shape of a lion's head. Accompanied with a golden cloak and the Lannister colours on his horse, Maerad knew it was the Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister. As if to prove her right, he removed his helmet revealing a strong, lean face and long blonde hair. He wore a smug smile to match.  _Yes._ Maerad thought,  _definitely a Lannister._

Following the Kingsguard was the King and an intricately decorated carriage. King Baratheon was a short, fat man, and appeared to be crushing the poor horse that was carrying him. Maerad guessed that the Queen and her children were in the carriage along with her maids. The carriage itself was a beautiful combination of gold and red, with intricate patterns embossed on the sides. It epitomised the wealth and snobbishness of the South. Maerad hated it.

Behind the carriage, a young man with golden hair rode. He wore no gold cloak so Maerad guessed he was the oldest, Joffrey. Maerad promised that she wouldn't judge him too quickly. Then she saw him flash Sansa a smile. Maerad's cordiality dissipated. It was not a polite smile of a man who has been graced into the home of someone else. It was the smile of a predator. He was making his claim. The subtext was easy to figure out. Sansa and Joffrey would likely be betrothed and that smile was Joffrey's way of saying, "She'll do quite nicely." First impressions were key with Maerad. If she didn't like someone on their first meeting, she would most likely never like him. Gut feelings were usually the cause.

No, Maerad didn't like him at all.

The royal procession dismounted and the whole of Winterfell bowed to their royal overlords. When Eddard was commanded to stand, so did Winterfell. The two families exchanged hellos and polite introductions and reunions.

The pleasantries between Lord Stark and King Robert ended abruptly when he demanded to be taken to the crypts. It was a strange request, one that only his wife, Cersei seemed to question. King Robert ignored her and Lord Stark took him to the crypts. The rest of the crowd seemed to disperse, except for the Starks and the few higher up of their advisers. And Maerad and Theon. Theon was ordered to show some guests to their quarters. Rodrick disappeared to help Maester Luwin with the Queen and her children. Catelyn wondered off to start preparations for the night's feast.

Eventually, the only people left near the gate were the Stark children and Maerad. Maerad made her excuses and left, not wanting to talk about their not so friendly visitors and guessing that Caine could do with a spare hand in the stables. The royal entrance had screamed of hostile and dangerous intent. Maerad hadn't seen a single genuinely friendly face.

As she walked away, Maerad had another gut feeling, one that told her that their visit wasn't going to end well.

 

* * *

 

 

It was late afternoon and Maerad had finished up her chores for the day. It had been long and arduous work and she could feel the ache in her lower back as she walked down the corridor towards her chambers.

Her mind drifted to the night before as she walked, remembering the touch of Robb's hand on her shoulder and the electric heat that passed between them. At the time, Maerad had barely noticed, focusing more on the fact that her best friend was sat beside her, both silently comforting each other before the world that they took for granted was to be shattered by their guests.

She found it odd seeing him from a distance earlier that day. She was used to him with a bit of scruff along his jawline, but today he was clean-shaven. Also, she could not approach him like she usually did and talk to him in the same way. There were members of the royal party everywhere and Maerad knew how Catelyn would react if the royals heard rumours of the oldest Stark boy being friends with a stable hand.

Maerad broke her reverie with a swift shake of her head and she turned onto the corridor that held her room and a few guest rooms.

She was immediately struck by a small man with golden hair. She recognised him instantly as Tyrion Lannister. Maerad inwardly sighed.

The last thing she needed today was a confrontation with the smart-mouthed, whippet of a man. It didn't help that he was a Lannister, but then again, nobody chooses their family.

Maerad recovered quickly and bowed politely to the man.

"Sorry, I didn't see you there." Tyrion glanced at her curiously. He clearly was waiting to see if that was a reference to his height. It hadn't escaped her notice that he was a dwarf. Tyrion stared her down, as if challenging her to make an ill-mouthed quip. Maerad simply stared back, her face as neutral as possible. She'd had a lot of practice.

Tyrion quickly gave up the staring contest, "Never mind, my dear. It was a blind corner and I am used to being trampled on by taller women."

Maerad had a feeling he was referring to his older sister, the Queen Cersei.

"Very well, then." Maerad stepped out of his way and proceeded down the hall. She felt his eyes on her as she walked. As she came to her door, she realised that he was still watching her. Maerad turned to face him.

"Is there something you wish to say?" Maerad asked.

"I'm just curious, really." Tyrion started walking towards her, "A woman like you, how do you have a room in the guest wing of the castle?"

"And what do you mean by 'a woman like me'?" Maerad was losing her patience and could feel her back twitching for some rest.

"I mean that, and I'm just guessing by the smell of horse shit, you are a stablehand. I'm pretty sure that the other stablehands don't sleep in the guest wing. What makes you so special?" Tyrion gave her a once over, his eyes lingering a little too long at her breasts for her liking.

"It's none of your posh, Southern business." Maerad snapped.

"Oh, you're a feisty one!" Tyrion laughed, "Actually, I do recall stories of a young girl who had been taken in to the Stark family. But the rumours all said that she was far prettier than you. It couldn't be you, could it?"

Tyrion was fishing and Maerad was not about to take a bite. 

"Mind you, maybe it's all that dirt from the stables that is covering that beautiful face of yours and I can't tell just how stunning you are."

"If you know who I am, then you also know my father."

"Oh, yes. The fearsome Jory Cassel. Best fighter that Winterfell has. I'm not scared of him. You clearly know who  _I_  am; therefore you must know  _my_  brother."

Maerad figured the only way to get rid of him was to win this game once and for all.

"I'm guessing he's the one with golden hair that  _doesn't_  smell of whores and ale." Maerad watched Tyrion's eyes light up, with what she couldn't tell. Maerad continued, "I know your brother. I also know that he earned his name by stabbing a man in the back. Strange really, I heard he was such an excellent fighter that surely he could stab a mad man without him having to turn away from the sword. Sounds like a coward to me." Maerad saw Tyrion open his mouth but continued over the top of him.

"As for you, you should get cleaned up. You are guests at Winterfell and I'm sure your fearsome, older brother wouldn't like it if I let you show up stinking like you do. That would be bad manners on my part." Maerad turned to open her door. Just as she stepped inside, she turned to face the gobsmacked Tyrion once again.

"Oh and about my father? You were wrong. He isn't the best fighter in Winterfell. I am. And I would remember that for if we ever meet again." Maerad slammed the door in his face.


End file.
